Fingers Only
by Mocha2
Summary: Ripping out people's vocal cords just isn't acceptable, even in post-apocalyptic Seattle. Chapter 4 is up! M/L, M/A, everything...
1. Brother Ben

Author's Note: I know that this chapter has no plot whatsoever, but Logan's voicelessness and Alec moving in with Max is explained in the next chapter... Review and you'll find out what that "little thing" was a whole lot sooner. 

**Fingers Only - Chapter 1**

Logan adjusted the microphone that clipped onto his ear, with a small extension that stopped about an inch short of his mouth. Sighing, he pulled the painted paperbag over his head and lifted the remote, pointed it at the small, black box that would start his cable hack, and hit the 'ON' button. 

"This is an Eyes Only streaming freedom bulletin." His sign-language was sloppy. "It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city." 

Across Seattle, Max opened a soda and shuffled herself a little bit. The couch she was sitting on was older than she was, a virtual eyesore in her otherwise mediocre apartment. Slowly, she brought the can to her lips and slurped loudly, trying to annoy the other X5 beside her. 

"Do you mind?" Alec asked sarcastically. "I'm trying to pay attention the the underground Mafia business.. Stuff." 

Max smiled, her attention unwavering from the TV in front of her. "Bull shit," she laughed. "He's talking about the Steelheads." 

"Fingers Only!" She nailed him in the ribs with her elbow, watching Logan's hands comically dance in front of the large paper bag. It was indelicately decorated with a smiley face and the words "Eyes Only". 

"If I recall, it was _your_ Steelhead buddies that ripped out his vocal co--" Logan promptly held up a sign reading "PEACE OUT" and the two of them laughed some more. Max hated herself for laughing at the further-disabled Logan, but his Fingers Only broadcasts were too much to bear. She looked at Alec for a moment, more out of a habit of looking around than anything else. 

Her voice wasn't exactly looking for his sympathy, more his understanding. "If your brother was a murderer, would you want people to know?" 

"I'd want him stopped," he pointed out. 

"I'm on it, Logan." 

"Let me help." 

"I don't want your help." 

"Why not? What's going on? What are you not telling me?" 

"Back off and let me handle this." 

"Max?" His tone was still joking, even though her smile had instantly faded. 

"What, Ben- Alec?" Max almost bit her tongue right in half. That was the only time she'd _ever_ made that mistake. He gave her an odd look."I did _not_ mean to..." 

"Uh, yeah." Max could tell that he couldn't care less about her slip of the tongue. "Who's Ben? You never did explain that to me." 

"Fingers Only," she smiled. "He's Fingers Only." 

"Tell me about the Good Place." 

"Where no one ever gets punished." Ben smiled. 

"And no one gets yelled at." 

"And nobody disappears. And when you wake up in the morning, you can stay in bed as long as--" 

"Maaaax..." Alec waved a hand in front of her face and she jumped. 

"What the hell are you doing here anyway?" she snapped. 

"Gee, the Steelheads are using my place for their HQ now, so I figured, since you _said_ I could stay here--" 

Max didn't care for his silly, smart-ass remarks. "Don't you have an apartment yet?" 

He nodded. "And there's some steriod-hungry Steelheads living in it." Max groaned. 

"It wouldn't be so bad if we hadn't- Yeah," she explained. Oh, right. _That_. That little thing she'd totally forgotten about while flashing back to Brother Ben killing people. 

"Yeah," he agreed. A Twinkie commercial started and they ignored each other. 

. . . . . . 

"Knock, knock," Max called, rounding one of Logan's separator panes. If her memory served her correctly, this was the one she'd thrown Alec through a year earlier. Her mind was preoccupied with finding other things to throw him through when Logan appeared. 

"Hey," she chirped. "Want Alec for a week? I've had it up to here--" she indicated the top of her head-- "with his 'morning, sweetheart,' garbage." Logan laughed inaudibly and it tore at her heart. Being voiceless was really getting to him, no matter how amusing it was for everyone else. He leaned on a pane across from hers, listening to her attentively. She tried to avert her eyes from the light scar on his neck, and finally managed to keep them on his face. 

"Yknow, if we got back you back in the chair and fixed you up with a creepy computer voice, you could be the next Steven Hawkings." This still didn't evoke so much as a grin from Logan. "Or you could mope." 

There was an uncomfortable quiet. Max anxiously tapped her right foot. 

"The silence is killing me," she said flatly. "We gotta find a way to get your voice back." He simply shrugged at her. 


	2. Too Sexy For This Story

Disclaimer: Twinkies belong to Hostess, Dark Angel belongs to somebody else, and but any Twinkie promotion references besides "Where's the cream filling?" are my own ideas. Fingers Only is the brainchild of the good people at the TelevisionWithoutPity.com Dark Angel Forums. 

Author's Note: The "little thing" is definitely not what any of you are expecting. And don't worry, *every* character gets bashed in this story, not just Logan. 

Thank you for all of those awesome reviews! I've never gotten that much for a chapter... keep it up and there will be very short waiting periods between chapters again! I've got up to chapter six written, and the sooner you guys review, the sooner you will get to read the rest of the story. :) 

**Fingers Only - Chapter 2**

**Three weeks earlier;**

"Max?" 

"Hm?" She stopped staring into space and reverted her eyes back to Logan's face. Something about his stupid computer desk sent her mind into a big span of nothingness. She could've sworn she was meant to be recieving messages from beyond when he was shooting his mouth off with all that technobabble. "Sorry. So someone's been programming subliminal messages into twinky commercials?" 

She backed up on instinct when he pulled away from his desk a bit, getting into her face. "Max," he said gently. "What the hell happened to our quid pro quo? Brainwashing the general public into twinky messages is practically a crime. I need your help on this." 

"Interrupting Simpsons reruns with a story about a mob boss is 'practically' a crime too," she quipped. "Shouldn't I be ripping off White's computer systems right now?" 

"Hate to have to apologize, but terrorists putting subliminal messages--" 

"You can only call them terrorists if you can put a name and face to a terror-causing crime." She could honestly care less about his Eyes Only mumbo-jumbo today; one of those old Powerpuff Girls cartoons would've interested her more. Not to mention the fact that transgenic boredom spared no one, including boyfriends, roommates, and 'the general public'. 

"Okay.. But _people_ putting subliminal messages in twinky commercials is _very_ serious," Logan intoned. "Everyone loves twinkies, especially kids." 

"And kids are so dangerous when brainwashed. Gotta watch them kids," Max chirped, and it was easy to tell that her care-free attitude was getting to him. A worried look flitted across his face on her last sentence; she didn't bring it up. 

"Look- you can't just go chase every little lead. This might be not be too bad," she gently reminded him, looking right into his eyes. "Chill. Take a day off." _Then get a cure for that virus and come to your cabin with me, where we will engage in hot monkey sex,_ she thought to herself. Then, _nah,_ she decided. While she did love Logan- and always would- she just couldn't imagine having a relationship. Not now. 

He pulled back to his desk, Max's heart aching when he didn't turn to look at her. "Fine. I'll have Asha do it," he said in a cold voice. "I think we should end our little quid pro quo program after you get that stuff from White." 

_Which little quid pro quo?_ She couldn't bring herself to actually say that, and she spewed filler instead. "I've got a computer, y'know," she said softly. "I got it last week. I don't need you to um, decode the disk I'm going to get." 

"Good for you." He didn't turn, but he didn't do anything with the computer either. With a grunt, Max leaned on the desk with her elbows, chin on her hands. 

"Would you look at me when you talk?" she asked boldly. "God, I know I was being a little mean, but that's no reason to--" 

"Just go! I'll... I'll pick you up to do that White thing later." She stood back up, a little annoyed that the mumbling Logan had cut her off like that. "Wait- Max-" 

She was gone. 

. . . . . . 

Logan drummed his fingers on the Aztek's steering wheel for a few minutes, staring out at the darkness that surrounded him. 

No sign of Max. 

Sighing, trying not to show he was worried even though no one was around, he shoved the car keys back in and turned them towards himself. No lights, just the radio and oh-so-trusty digital clock above it. He hummed along to his default, classical music station, alarmed when someone actually started talking. 

"Hey there Seattle, this is Classic Ninety-four-point-one, puttin' some class in your evenings. We're gonna flip you offa your rockers right now, with a selection guaranteed to get you up off your stank old couch and onto the catwalk! Are _you_ too sexy?" Logan groaned as the opening beats to Too Sexy started up. 

_I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love,  
Love's going to leave me._

Absentmindedly, he bopped his head, drummed his fingers, and almost hummed along to the "love's going to leave me" line. 

He jumped right into singing along softly, bored. "I'm... Too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuurts." Logan sang in a horribly quiet, off-key monotone that irked even him. Embarassed, he shut up for the moment. 

_ And I'm too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan,  
New York and Japan,  
And I'm too sexy for your party, too sexy for your party,  
No way I'm disco dancing. _

Sighing again, he looked over the steering wheel and leaned on the horn, muttering every obscenity he could think of at the noise. This was a simple, hit-and-run job; what was taking Max so long? He started singing another time. 

_ I'm a model, you know what I mean.   
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.   
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah,  
I do my little turn on the catwalk.  
_

Max... Beautiful, genetically engineered, the love of his life. Perfectly flawed in every way. Unlike him- he was just human. _You idiot. Good job telling her to fuck off._ His mind went back to trying to remember the lyrics to the song as the passenger-seat door flew open, and a leather-clad, twenty-something woman jumped in. She gave him an odd look, glancing from the radio to him again. Logan turned three shades of red and changed the radio station. Max swatted his hand away from the tuner. 

"Do you mind?" She muttered. 

"Yeah." 

_ I'm too sexy for my car, too sexy for my car,  
Too sexy by far.  
And I'm too sexy for my hat,  
Too sexy for my hat, what d'you think about that?_

"That's a bad habit," she pointed out with a sly grin, changing the station back. "I got it, by the way. Names, locations, occupations, and small pictures of every Familiar in Seattle." She waved a CD case in one of her gloved hands. 

He thanked her and turned the ignition forward. The car hummed slightly as they pulled away. 

_I'm a model, you know what I mean.  
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.  
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah,  
I shake my little touche on the catwalk..._

"You're thanking me for something I did for myself and that's it? A thank you? Where's my 'excellent'?" 

Logandidn't say much, trying to concentrate on the road. "In syndication episodes of the Simpsons, perhaps?" 

They were silent for a few moments. 

_ I'm too sexy for my, too sexy for my, too sexy for my..._

'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean,  
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.  
Yeah, on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk, yeah.  
I shake my little touche on the catwalk.  


I'm too sexy for my cat, too sexy for my cat,  
Poor pussy, poor pussy cat.  
I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love,  
Love's going to leave me.  


And I'm too sexy for this song.

"Oh!" Max cried out suddenly, making him jump. "I gotta stop by Alec's. Be a dear, would you?" 

"Did he have a sudden laziness relapse, rendering him unable to go to work on Friday and miss out on getting a paycheck?" 

"Apparently." They chuckled softly, the awkward silence growing. Logan almost started to say something, but Max urgently shushed him as a certain commercial came on the radio. 

"Dough, the stuff they put in twinkies... Ray, the guy that buys me Twinkies... Me, the person he buys them for... Fa, lalalalala Twinkies! So, I think, I'll have some Twinkies. Tea, no thanks, I'll have a Twinkie... Which brings us back to doh-doh-doh-doh-doh-doh-doh Twinkie!" Max nodded at the radio and looked at Logan expectantly, waiting for the 'Sound of Music'-inspired Twinkie tune to end. 

"I love that song," she smiled. "Don't you?" 

He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. The cream filling turns me on," Logan said flatly. 

"What?" 

. . . . . . 

Max pounded her fist on Alec's door, still a little weirded out from Logan's cream filling comment. He answered sooner than she expected, dressed in his usual attire, his hair a little scruffier than normal. "Hey. Would you like to get paid?" 

He pursed his lips, leaning on the half-open door. "Depends. For sexual favours or for delivering packages? Or will I be getting paid _in_ sexual favours?" Max practically shoved his paycheck at him. 

"Normal decided to pay you in buttons," she chided. 

"I dunno... I think hearing about the gladiator saga going on in his subconscious was payment enough." 

"Believe me, if you knew Normal... Gladiator fantasies are only the tip of the iceberg." Alec's expression went from bemused to disgusted, and then to a wierd, "oh, hello" look. He raised his eyebrows at something behind Max and she turned slowly. 

Fifteen Steelheads glared at them, spokes ticking from their skulls and other body parts not covered in leather or denim. Several of them carried metal pipes, arms crossed, slouching defiantly. Max simply shrugged it off and turned back to Alec. 

"So yeah, you gonna show up at work tomorr--" One of the lead males grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her around by the jacket. "Um, something you'd like?" she smiled sweetly. The Steelhead looked from her to Alec and back again. 

"You boy here owes us some... Goods." 

"Hey!" Max turned slightly to see Alec waving one hand to get their attention. "Me? Out of drug dealing. And you guys are gonna get your asses seriously kicked." 

"Humphf," she muttered, his horribly-unadjusted slang hurting her head. "Don't like, freak on them, man." 

"_Anyway,_" he continued, trying to make a deal and get their leader to release her. "How about you all get the hell out of here before I embarass you again?" 

. . . . . . 

How long does it take to drop off a check? Logan wondered to himself, whistling along to the sweet sounds of the Spice Girls' 'Holler'. He would never admit it to anyone, but he hadn't just been a fan of the girls themselves... 

A huge pack of oddly-dressed men and women that he recognized as Steelheads walked into Alec's building, not exactly looking like they were going to start a party that was about loving thy neighbour. He watched them stalk off into the building before slowly turning off the car and getting out. Logan knew all too well that those freaks had a lot of business going on with Alec... 

He didn't, quite frankly, give a rat's ass about the man, but he wasn't wishing him- or Max- dead. Besides, he hadn't saved the day in almost a week. 


	3. Tonight on COPS

Disclaimer: Dark Angel and its characters belong to TPTB, Twinkies belong to Hostess, Fingers Only is the brainchild of the TWoP forums... 

Author's Note: Should I even bother continuing? 

**Fingers Only - Chapter 3**

**Present;**

Alec channel-flipped through the usual Saturday night television. Some show with dancing women that weren't wearing anything held his attention until a Twinkie commercial started. "Fucking Twinkies," he muttered, changing the channel. That Twinkie commercial was everywhere; on every channel, in every language. He wondered if Logan was at all jealous of the Twinkie's marvelous broadcasting powers. 

There it was again! The small cake seemed to dance to a badly out-of-tune Twinkie song. At the end, it was dancing so fast that it snapped in half. Alec rolled his eyes and changed the channel again- ah, no dancing Twinkies. It was America's Most Wanted, baby. Too bad he was completely occupied with wondering where Max hid her beer. 

"Tonight on America's Most Wanted... Have you seen this man? Alec Worcestishistershire--" Alec cringed. Not at the fact that he was on America's Most Wanted, but because they'd fucked up his fake last name. Was Worcestershire so hard to say? Gawd, he'd even gotten it from a sauce bottle so that people would be able to pronounce it. "--is wanted for felony murder of eleven people." 

There was a rough police sketch of him shown. "Described by police and witnesses as a good-looking young man, approximately six feet tall with hazel eyes and brown hair," the host continued, "Mr. Worcestershire is considered armed and dangerous, and is currently being hunted by the police for the murders he committed one year ago. According to police, he would supposedly put _barcodes_ on the backs of their necks before hunting them down and killing them. If you have any info..." 

- - - - - 

Max stirred her fork around in her spaghetti aimlessly, too frustrated with herself to eat. Here she was, eating pasta with Logan, even though she and Alec had-- "So how's life?" She asked, trying to interrupt thoughts with words. Logan sort of did a "comme si comme ca" movement with his hand and went back to eating. 

"Look- Logan- Maybe it's best if we don't see each other any more." He swallowed and looked at her intently, knowing he couldn't say anything. Max stared down at her plate, still fidgeting with her fork. She didn't want to see the expression on his face when she spoke "It's just- We can't touch. You're human, I'm not..." She started to really get into her speech, shrugging her shoulders for emphasis and still staring at her spaghetti. "And me and Alec slept together..." Her eyes finally met his, and she instantly wished they hadn't. _Fuck, I wish I could hit reverse and not say that..._

"Max." The word formed in his mouth, but no sound came out. Not like it mattered, she could lip-read. "You were in heat, right?" Max couldn't hear any intonation in his voice of course, but his face said it all. He was practically begging her to give her another answer. 

She shook her head, stood up, pushed in her chair. "I'm sorry, Logan. Thanks for the grub." 

- - - - - 

"Look who's home," Alec muttered from the living room a short while later. "You and Logan didn't get into a fight I guess, because he can't talk and you can't touch him and..." His voice trailed as she sat down on the couch and curled up in it, saying nothing. "Max, you okay?" 

"No," she said simply. With a sigh, he put the bowl of nachos on the ground and sat down beside her. "Go away, Alec," Max barely whispered. 

"What happened?" 

"'What happened'? You _know_ what happened." She glared at the television. 

"You saw the Twinkie commercial too, huh?" 

"That is _not_ what I meant, although the Twinkie thing was pretty creepy." 

"Yeah, with the dancing and the--" 

"Alec!" 

"Sorry." They were both silent for a moment before he figured out. "Oh! That... Thing." 

She looked at him finally. "Grow up. We slept together." 

"So?" She glared again. "It's called casual sex, Max," he pointed out. Her eyebrows went up slightly, in an, "oh, is that so?" way. "Or are you just upset that except for that night, you haven't gotten some in two years because you and Logan are lame?" 

"We're not like that," Max muttered under her breath. 

"Which is why you two were making out after that Gossamer thing?" 

"We didn't 'make out'." 

"Because you're lame." Max looked away and didn't say anything. "Okay, so basically, you and Logan are both in denial and you're 'not like that' with him because you feel guilty about sleeping with me?" 


	4. Beauty Sleep

Disclaimer: Dark Angel and its characters belong to TPTB, Twinkies belong to Hostess, Fingers Only is the brainchild of the TWoP forums... 

Author's Note: OK, to clear up the timeframe problem: Chapter 1 is an prologue, and happens in the 'present'. Chapter 2 goes back in time by three weeks or so to explain why things were the way they were in Chapter 1. Chapter 3 takes place after Chapter 1 and is followed by this chapter. Capeche? 

Also: Max and Alec sleep together sometime between the events of Chapter 2 and Chapter 1... The number of reviews will dictate when you get to learn about more about that! 

**Fingers Only - Chapter 4**

"Beauty Sleep" 

**Present;**

The small room in the RCF abandoned warehouse was damp, dank, and home to a mere cable connection and electric plug. Wind whistled through the aging wall planks as Otto flipped through the channels until White yelled "Stop! Go back!" and so he did. "That's the one, Otto." 

"Top stories on the six o'clock news report tomorrow morning: Just how big is this transgenic threat? Hostess stocks skyrocket by five and a half points, and a young Timmy is still trapped in a rural well. All this and more on CKVR24 Breakfast Television! For Marlene, Larlene, Tim, Tom, Tarlene, and Jim, I'm Darlene. Goodnight Seattle." 

A smile crossed White's face. "I just made my own day." 

"How'd you do that, sir, if you don't mind my asking?" 

"Twinkie stocks, Otto. Promotion has just been out of control these past three weeks. With the money we're making, we'll be able to afford an even larger apocalypse." 

Otto raised a cautious eyebrow. "Apocalypse, sir?" 

"The Coming, Otto." Lazily, he flicked off the TV. "Give Eyes Only a shout. Tell him you've got a story he won't believe... I can't have him messing this up." 

"Should I leave the last part out, sir?" 

"Just _do_ it." 

- - - - - 

"We didn't 'make out'." 

"Because you're lame." Max looked away and didn't say anything. "Okay, so basically, you and Logan are both in denial and you're 'not like that' with him because you feel guilty about sleeping with me?" 

"I'm not like that with him because we can't touch, nimrod." He noticed she was avoiding the rest of his question but didn't say anything. 

"You're just not creative," Alec smirked at her disgusted face. She got up from the couch in a huff and stalked off to her room. "Where're you off to?" 

"My room. I need an hour of beauty sleep," she called from the hallway. 

"'Night, pumpkin," he mocked. 

"Shut up!" 

- - - - - 

Logan tried to keep his eyes on the road ahead but found himself continually glancing at Alec. Him and Max... _Him_ and _Max_. He'd always thought of the Manticore kids as a somewhat responsible, trust-worthy, and respecting bunch, and had to keep reminding himself that Alec was just a bad apple. It never occured to him that it may have been Max's fault, of course. Max was perfect, an inhuman image of perfection. She'd probably just slept with Alec because she couldn't have Logan, and Alec was a transgenic and therefore a better choice than some random guy... Not a better choice than Logan, though. Definitely not. 

Alec rubbed his hands together and tried to start conversation. Logan glanced at him, jaw set, eyes narrow, then looked back at the road. The younger man ignored his gesture. "So... Uh... Eyes Only informant, huh?" Logan nodded. "Who doesn't understand sign language?" Nod. "So I'm going to be your interpreter then?" Nod. "And you're going to pretend that your deaf?" Logan would've said, "And you're going to pretend that you're daft? Or is pretending a waste since you actually are a moron?" if he had a voice to say it with. He kept glaring at the road. 

He'd _meant_ to take Max along, but when he called she was asleep. And Alec found it all too amusing that Logan had to communicate over a phone by morse code-ing his way along with a pencil and the phone handset. So now the Moron was going to be his interpreter, because Little Miss Shark DNA apparently needed sleep. The thought of what could've possibly tired her out invaded his mind. No, no, no. 

She'd been lying about the whole thing! Of course! It was dangerous for them to be together, virus or not. They were constantly having to save each other's lives, and trying to push him away was the best solution to their problem. And Alec? _Perfect_ excuse. Logan would just have to keep stepping over that boundary she'd created, and show her that it was OK for them to be together, yes, that was the solution. 

And if she really was with Alec or it was the fact that Logan was human... Well, it was easy to be Alec, and easy to be 'transgenic'. If he had enough transgenic blood around, that would solve the problem of both his weakness and possibly the virus; the X series probably had some sort of protection against biological warfare. 

Alec- the Moron- snapped him out of his daze momentarily. "Hey, Log, buddy ol' pal o' mine... I think we've passed like, six suspicious looking warehouses. Where are you taking me?" _To the slaughter house,_ Logan thought, a devious Grinch-like smile forming. "Uh, Logan?" He simply shrugged in response. "I can lip-read, eh. Say something." 

"It's after six o'clock and the bite me rule is in effect." Alec couldn't hear the intonation, just read his face. Logan displayed just about every emotion from homicidal anger to impatience. 

"Never mind then," he responded, slightly less oblivious to Logan's mood. 

Speaking of Logan, he slammed the Aztek to a halt in front of one of the warehouses and almost threw himself and his passenger out the windshield. "Are we here?" He questioned in a more pissed-off voice. Logan didn't respond, so he just hopped out of the car and shut the door behind him with a good slam. 

"Wait up," the mute one called. _Shit, he can't hear me because I don't have any fuckin' vocal cords._ Moron continued towards the warehouse, stopped at its entrance, peeked inside. Logan was silently praying that he'd go in and get shot or something along those lines, but he just walked in with his usual swagger, and no gunshots were heard. 

A moment later they were both inside, standing a few feet apart in what appeared to be... A big warehouse. "You sure about this, Logan?" Alec questioned with a careful glance. All he got in return was a time-hardened glare. "Look- About what happened what, two weeks ago? _Get over it,_" he blurted, starting to name things off on his fingers. "It's called 'casual sex'," finger two- "I'm not the kind of idiot who would move in on another guy's girl," three- "As far as I knew and know now, you two aren't like-" 

"What, did you two get drunk and sleep together or something?" A feminine voice called. The two of them looked around wildly until they saw her, a presumably twenty-something blonde with a slight figure in jeans and a tank top. She descended a rickety staircase not far from them and walked over. 

Alec stood up a little straighter as the woman approached, and Logan groaned mockingly in his voiceless way. She looked at him, then back at Alec. "I guess your friend's not deaf, then? When my friend called he was tapping on the damn phone in morse code or something." Her glance turned back to Logan. "Crazy shithead was the first phrase that came to mind." 

"So, you have some sort of story or something?" Alec interrupted. The blonde looked at him and rolled her eyes, boredom the only emotion to betray her otherwise poker face. 

"You know about White and his kooky gang, right?" Nod. "They've got Hostess stocks. Most of the Hostess stocks, actually." In the back of Alec's mind, he was wondering how she knew about all of this... 

"So?" 

"So, they need to make money. We were originally trying to cripple the Hostess company, but then they turned to harvesting human organs to make money. We have to put them out of business, period." She was much more serious now; she sounded like a token freedom fighter trying to prove a point. "Apparently they want to capture 452, as well, because she's preventing them from doing their big things where they kill people." What the hell? She knew about Max as well? 

Alec looked slightly confused. "What do they need all that money for?" 

"Facial paint," she deadpanned. "Seriously. The stuff costs a fortune.. Not to mention snake food and other necessities." The woman looked at Logan again. "What's his story? Deaf? Dumb? Mute?" 

"Mute." 

"Tell him to bugger off. He looks weak." Alec glanced quickly at Logan's retreating form, then back at her. She rubbed her hands together and stepped forward, until she was barely two feet from him. "Now then..." 


End file.
